Bodacious Boomer

Today or tomorrow depending on which site you check, kicks off National Feel Your Boobies Week. I’m a big believer in feeling your boobies since my mom, now 85, has had aggressive breast cancer, twice. Now she’s left with the chest of pre-pubescent girl. But that’s OK. She’s still here and as far as I know healthy- at least for now. Her last bout with breast cancer was 15 years ago. My mom was never a big believer in feeling her own boobs. (Perhaps that is a generational thing. I really don’t know).

My dad died when my mom was 55. Her first bout of breast cancer hit when she was 65. They found the lump at her doctor visit one day, biopsied it the next day, did a radical mastectomy the day after that. Mom never went for a second opinion or even investigated other options. She said since my dad was gone she was “done with them” anyway. I remember thinking that was a harsh statement but her mind was made up. Needless to say, I became a self-exam zealot once my mom was diagnosed.

I had a scare about 10 years ago. After my annual mammogram, I got a call from my Dr.’s office saying I needed to come in for “a chat”. I’d known the nurse who called me for almost 20 years. She’s seen me for three pregnancies, fibroids and a hysterectomy. I told her I knew she didn’t want me to come in to give her my recipe for tuna noodle casserole; just tell me. She read the report to me, word for word. When I heard the words “suspicious shadow on the upper left chest wall”  I just about fell over. I didn’t freak out, but I remember my heart racing in my chest.

I couldn’t get in for the ultrasound for three days. Waiting was the pits. Then laying in that cold room, boob all covered with cold gel, while the ultrasound tech took the images was awful. (Doesn’t everyone expect the worst)? I know I did. Of course as soon as it was done, I wanted the results. It was Friday morning. I was told it would be late next week before I would have the results. I got the address for the radiologist and went directly there and politely asked that my scan be read that day. The office manager said that couldn’t be done. I explained that that just wouldn’t do and that I did not intend to leave, no matter how long it took, until my scan was read and my doctor had the results. I was prepared for a sit-in if necessary. Five hours later the office manager came out to me and said my Dr. had a verbal report. She wasn’t thrilled with me. I didn’t care. I thanked her and immediately went to my gyno.

I was told no more tests were needed. I didn’t have cancer. I was elated. Doug gave me a big hug. I went home and slept deeply for the first time in 4 days. I was really lucky and I know it. Now, although I don’t have health insurance, I still get a digital mammogram every year and I still feel my boobies. (I’m also lucky enough to live with an eager volunteer boobie feeler). No one knows your boobies like you do though. So ladies, get to feeling! Remind your friends to do the same. And for the men reading this-make sure the women you love are feeling their boobies every month. It’s a really good thing- for both of you. Today’s trivia answer- running a TV for four hours.

I watched the premier of  Cougartown on ABC last night. I really liked it. Since I am still monogamous after 27 years and usually happy in my marriage, the label of  “cougar” doesn’t really apply to me. (I’m not out looking for a younger man to have a tryst with or anything else for that matter). I don’t believe though that you actually have to be a cougar to appreciate the show. The show opens with Courtney Cox looking at her body after getting out of the shower. She looks great considering she’s actually 45 in real life. (I should look so good).However, she stands there jiggling her thigh and her triceps, realizing they’re not like they used to be. Somehow I found that comforting.-sad but true. It’s a very relatable moment for any woman over 40 for sure.

She explains to a friend that it’s not so much that she wants to be with younger guys, it’s just that the guys her age are all “broken, gay or dating younger girls”. I have a friend 53 who’s been a single mom for as long as I’ve known her, nine years now. She is not an unattractive in the least, taking yoga and spin classes. Her son who just started high school. Over the years I’ve met a couple of the guys she went out with for a while. One seemed nice enough to me. However, according to her, whenever they were “together” she thought he was going to completely sever her spinal cord. She nicknamed him “the biter”. Another one of her beaus apparently was an alcoholic and would get completely bombed whenever they went out. (She hated that). She kept him around for awhile though. Apparently he was quite the carpenter. (He had a large tool and was very handy with it).

I last spoke to her about a month ago. Now she’s seeing a guy again that she’d broken up with a few months before. She said he was a good guy, however she knew it really wasn’t going to go anywhere long-term. He has a bunch of kids from a previous marriage and just too much “baggage”. I see now that it’s a distinct possibility that she’ll be alone forever. That’s very sad.

I can’t imagine what it would be like for me having to be “out there” again and start dating- with all that entails. If you believe what was said last night on the show, I’d be competing with women half my age- women who’s boobs still point north and who’s short term memory was still intact? I don’t think so. Just the thought of that is extremely daunting to me. In addition to making me laugh, Cougartown made me realize just how lucky I am. I think I’ll show Doug some “appreciation” before he heads out for Dallas. Today’s trivia answer- He’s the voice for all AOL greetings.

As you may remember part 1 ended with a rather unpleasant ending to my first fraternity toga party in fall 1969. After much reflection and talking to more than a few of my friends I decided that I had to go ahead and “get it over with”. Coming to this decision took me a couple of weeks. Frankly I wasn’t too enthused with the prospect. After making the decision I had to choose the time; I knew the place, my dorm room. I decided that if I was going to do this it wasn’t going to be in the back of a car or at some sleazy motel.

Since most of the girls at the dorm were gone on dates Friday night, the halls would be pretty empty. Also, my room was the very first room on the hall, it wouldn’t be hard to sneak him in. All I had to do was make sure the girl at the check in desk was busy at the time and I could walk him right by. It would be easy. Most of the girls slept in on Saturday morning, so there’d be less chance of him getting seen leaving  then. Since I wasn’t on the pill at that time, I went to the pharmacy across the street and bought some foam to make sure I didn’t get pregnant.

My roommate Laurie knew what was going on. Besides, since we each had our own bedroom, it wouldn’t be awkward for her. I called Reggie and asked him if he’d like to come over. I guess it was in essence, a booty call. He didn’t hesitate before he answered. What 18 yr. old guy would’ve? In fact, I think he was downstairs before I got the phone hung up. Just as I suspected it was easy to walk him right to my room. Since I had a kitchenette in my room I had snacks and drinks in case we wanted anything “later”.

We talked for a few minutes then he put his plan into action. First the kissing, (I was sure he was checking to see if my tonsils were still there), then he squeezing and “tuning” my boobs. (I thought he was trying to bring in Mars on the radio, turning the knobs left, then right). I remember wondering if other girls really enjoyed this. By the time that part was over he was ready for the main event, so to speak. Now, I’d never seen one of those things before and frankly was amazed. (Of course I didn’t say anything about it).

I excused myself and fumbled around with the foam in the bathroom, just hoping that I was doing it correctly. I came back to bed for the grand finale. And so it began. (I felt like a piece of round steak getting tenderized). After ten minutes of huffing (him- not me), it was over. I laid there thinking -That’s it? That’s what all the hub-bub is about? Why? What a mess! He was sweaty; I was sticky. At that point all I wanted was for him to be gone, but that wasn’t going to happen til morning. He just laid there, then slept. I didn’t expect sonnets or anything but I didn’t even get a “Was it good for you?” (Of course back then I didn’t know what to expect- but I knew it had to be something better than what I had just experienced).

Looking back I just realized that was 40 years ago. I’m hoping that the young guys these days are either more knowledgable or at least less selfish. Reggie slipped out of my room the next morning undetected. (Of course now with the advent of co-ed dorms, I guess having a guy in your dorm room would no longer be an issue). Sadly, it was years and more than a few more “tenderizations” before I knew what all the hub-bub was about. It really made me appreciate someone who knew their way around a female body. So, I ask you, your first time, “Was it good for you?”. Today’s trivia answer-molasses.

Yesterday I decided that if I was going to go on this cruise for a week that I had to go through my closet. Since at least April, maybe earlier, I have been wearing almost the same thing every day. It’s just so easy. Being self-employed I have no one to impress to get ahead nor do I have any corporate guidelines to which I must adhere. Therefore I wear what I want. Pretty much I have worn a T-shirt, shorts and Crocs sandals almost everyday for the last 5 months.

On the plus side I don’t have a big dry cleaning bill. Nor do I have to iron anything. In face I haven’t ironed anything in over fifteen years. (If Doug wants anything pressed he sends it to the cleaners.) In my defense, I really never learned how to iron when I was still at home. My mom had a wonderful woman named Lela Mae who came to our house every Weds. from the time I was three until I was thirty. She would clean the house in the morning, then have her lunch while she watched As the World Turns. After lunch she’d start the ironing. (She had one of those sprinkle tops stuck in a bottle of water she used to dampen the clothes.) I was amazed at how fast she could iron and how perfectly.

I did iron a little when the kids were young. Amanda went to private school for her first two years and had to wear a uniform. If I didn’t get it out of the dryer soon enough I’d be stuck having to iron it. After that she went to a very small school for young brainiacs. They didn’t believe in uniforms, not wanting to stifle the creative mind. (I fully supported that philosophy.)  I’ve read that some people really get into ironing-kinda of Zen thing I guess. I can’t imagine that, but to each their own.

The down side of being self employed and working from home (most of the time) is that it’s easy to become complacent and not give a thought to what you’re wearing day after day. Some days, if I’m having a all-day hot flash, I’ll sit in here at the computer with just a tank top and undies, a fan blowing on me from two feet away. I keep my thermostat set above 84 and I still got an electric bill for over $400 last month-for a one story house. How crazy is that?

After putting it off as long as I could, I finally went into my closet last night. Other than trying on swimsuits under unflattering fluorescent lights at a store, going through my closet really ranks up there on my “I don’t want to do this.” list. I was face-to-fabric with some of my unfortunate clothing choices from the past. (I should never go shopping alone.) Why did I think I could ever wear horizontal stripes? I’m 5′4″-or I was before I started to shrink. The ghosts from failed diets past were lurking in there too, just waiting to ruin my self-esteem. I heard them whispering to one another “She really thought she was  going to get into that again?” Then they snickered.

As my father used to say “I girded up my loins” and went right on in, passing the pencil skirt that’s never been worn and ruffled blouse. (Why I ever thought I needed to draw attention to my boobs I do not know.) In the past, I’d get bummed out and leave the closet without having faced my fears. This time, I was a woman on a mission. The clothes I knew I would never wear for whatever reason were taken out and bagged for Katy Christian Mission, the local resale shop. It was a liberating experience.

When I went into the closet this morning it was silent. It was great. All of the ghosts are gone, never to return. I am in the here and now and not going back. It feels good.

I’m thinking how ironic life can be. I just saw and ad on TV for this gizmo that is supposed to add a full cup size just by pulling your bra straps tighter. I have no use for this, having been told recently that I am, officially a triple D. That is DDD. I had been 2D for as long as I can remember. Of course like most women, I was probably just wearing the wrong size bra. This whole 3D thing has me freaked out. The only 3D thing I ever knew growing up was a movie. Remember those? You had to wear those crazy cardboard glasses. Now while wearing the new bra and looking in the mirror the girls have been lifted up, way up. My husband, Doug, said that now they almost look fake. (As if I wasn’t self-conscious enough before.) Remember the old sci- fi movie from the 50’s- The Attack of the 50 Foot Woman? In my mind now, she and I can wear the same size bra. Logically I know that’s not true. However, as every woman will tell you, it’s their own perception of themselves that matters.

When I was much younger and there was a hurricane approaching Houston my friend and I chose to ride out the storm at my parent’s house where we thought we’d be safer, since we both lived in an apartment complex nearby. We brought our laundry over to do while we were there. My mom pulled out Diana’s bra from the dryer and said “Oh look, a Barbie bra.” Everyone shared a big laugh then. Back then I thought it was a bummer that she couldn’t wear certain things because they just weren’t flattering on her less than ample chest. Now that we are both in our late 50’sthings have changed. My friend can still go without a bra and look OK. I, on the other hand, look like I have been a professional wet nurse for the last 30 years. Of course there were more than a few times over the years when they worked to my advantage. I used to be a face painter at the Renaissance Festival and had to dress in a period costume. Wearing a demi bra, the waist cincher and the full skirt I looked voluptuous. (Too bad I can’t dress like that everyday.)  I was single then and made the most of the attention.

I came from a long line of gigantoid bosoms. I remember being rocked by my grandmother when I was little and thinking she was so soft- like pillows. I didn’t realize until I was much older than my grandmother never wore a bra. In the early 70’s my father purchased an evening dress for my mom for a business dinner. It had a plunging neckline, to say the least.  Mom tried it on and came out to model it. She filled it out and it looked great. Instantly my dad announced that she could never wear that dress in public.- Strange how that dress was never returned to the store.

It was obvious to me that my fate was sealed early on. (I was the only girl in Brownies with a training bra.) I was even OK with them in my 20’s and 30’s when, although they couldn’t be described as “perky” they still looked great under clothes. I remember coming home from college with a halter top on and no bra. I was admonished by my mom as soon as I entered the house. “Go put a bra on. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”  Who knew? I was 18 and listened to very little my mom told me back then. Of course she was right and that statement has come back to bite me on the backside.  Over time they have slipped, drifted, migrated or dare I use the dreaded “S” word- sagged.

The good news is that I’m married to a great guy who swears he loves my boobs. I guess that should be all that matters. He said there is even a website called “Big Naturals.” He’s encouraged me to look at it saying that they all look like mine. However, I’ve never even been tempted to go there. I watch women on TV who have TB, (tiny boobs), lamenting their fate. If they only knew what I and all the other BB’s (big boobed) deal with every day-bra straps that dig into your shoulders, the chafing in the hot weather, not being able to find a dress that fits in the bust, the underwire that’s popped out and is shish kabobbing you at the exact worst moment of the day. Not to mention the fun you have when you go bra shopping. Size DDD and above can’t even be found in most stores. So, when you do find one somewhere, you practically have to take out a second on your house to pay for it. And you can forget pretty and sexy bras. Most of them look they’ve been made by the Army Corps of Engineers- structure and support you know. On the plus side though I can always get a job posing for National Geographic so I’ll never be unemployed.

So I guess it’s true that you always want what you don’t have.